


gaslight

by kingofghosting



Series: original character statements [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Misgendering, Original Character(s), The Web - Freeform, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofghosting/pseuds/kingofghosting
Summary: milo takes a journey through the crawlspace in his home.--statement is formatted as a play, very much inspired by "mag 172 - strung out".
Series: original character statements [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872592
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	gaslight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the magnus archives](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/673327) by jonathan sims. 



> CONTENT WARNING:
> 
> Manipulation, Gaslighting, Burning Alive, Fire, mentions of appendix surgery and hand trauma. Mentions of transphobia and misgendering of the main character.

**[ STATEMENT]**

Wandering through the dark basement,  **MILO** finds himself lost. He doesn’t know where the exit is, he doesn’t know what he has to find, but he knows he has to get  _ out. _ He hums, softly, a song that he wrote himself. He jolts at the voice he hears.

**_MILO’S MOTHER_ ** _ , in the dark _ : “You’ve always been such an artistic kid. I’m proud of you.”

**MILO** knows the sound of his mother’s voice; she’s always been there to guide him. He follows it, trying to go straight to the source, but his foot catches on something, and he trips. He’s quick to get back on his feet, something telling him that if he stayed down for too long, he’d get hurt. He didn’t question it. He maneuvers around whatever made him fall, limping slightly. He tries to call out to her, but his voice gets caught in his throat. 

His eyes are adjusting, slowly, to the darkness. He can see dusty tables, boxes stacked to tower over him, blank paintings, old toy boxes. He knows this basement, it’s his own, but it’s wrong. That table was supposed to be near the front, why was it here in the back? That dollhouse was given to Aunt Clarisse, why was it here?

**_MILO’S MOTHER_ ** _ , a little closer _ : “That was always right there. You don’t remember? The crawlspace has always been big.”

He shook his head. That wasn’t right, was it? He coughed and sputtered as he walked into a cobweb, sneezing and stepping backwards. When he had recovered enough to look back up, his surroundings seemed a little brighter.  **MILO** smiles.

Continuing further, continuing farther.  **MILO** thinks hard about what his mother said. He remembers handing Aunt Clarisse that dollhouse. They hauled it into her car together and then rode down to Plymouth, where he was supposed to meet his cousins. Did Mother forget? He wouldn’t be surprised if she did. He stopped for a moment, pausing in front of something obscured by a sheet. After a brief moment of consideration, he pulled the sheet down to reveal a mirror.  **MILO** stared at himself, straining his eyes in the dark. He could see his eyes, the way his hair had dust in it, sticking up awkwardly. He swore he thought he saw something hovering above, but when he strained his eyes harder, it melded into the dark. 

**_MILO’S MOTHER_ ** _ , right behind him _ : “What’s wrong, dear? You know, plenty of other women hate their bodies. You aren’t alone.”

**MILO** flinches, cringing and staggering away from the voice. He stumbles back into a box, an old vase losing its balance and spilling onto him, ruining the shirt he could now recognize as his favorite. He’s too blinded by his distaste for his mother’s words to properly identify the putrid smell that covered him and made his clothes stick to his skin. But now, far away,  **MILO** can see a light. It’s small and flickering, but it’s enough hope to keep him going.

He knew she meant well when she said that. But  **MILO** wasn’t like other women.  **MILO** wasn’t a woman. His mother knew that. So why did she say it? She must’ve been looking out for me,  **MILO** tells himself. The light was getting closer.  **MILO** tried to speed up, but a vintage table suddenly moved in front of him. He barrelled into it, toppling over and crushing the old wood into pieces. It used to belong to Grandmother. But now it belonged to Mom.

**_MILO’S MOTHER_ ** _ was furious. _ “Why don’t you ever pay attention? You can’t speed through life. Don’t rush being an adult.”

**MILO** opened his mouth to protest, but he winced and held back tears as wooden shards jabbed into his chest.

“Oh, but honey… I’m not mad at you, I know it was an accident. I just want you to be more careful.” 

He pushed himself up, standing and trying to regain balance.  **MILO** drew in a quick breath as his shirt touched where he knew puncture holes sat, stinging pain pulsing through him. His skin burned. The smell wasn’t getting much better. But the light was getting closer, and that’s what mattered.

**MILO’S MOTHER** knew what she said had ingrained itself deep into  **MILO** ’s brain and psyche. How couldn’t she? She read his facial expressions like a children’s book and always said something to make his head spin faster than a hurricane in July. When he blinked, the light in the distance would glow brighter, but only for a second. He wiped at his eyes and hissed at the burning pain, but continued to press forward.

**_MILO’S MOTHER,_ ** _ almost perfectly clear;  _ “Well, don’t dwell on the pain too much. It’s been worse, hasn’t it? Remember when your appendix almost ruptured? Or when you shut your hand in the car door? You’ve been through worse. Don’t let a little sting bother you.”

For a split second,  **MILO** was filled with rage. He held his tongue, continuing to march towards the light that was burning brighter than ever. He thought of things to calm himself down, how his mother was just trying to make him see the positive in things. But he always saw the positives in things. He always looked on the bright side, no matter how many clouds covered the sky. She never acknowledged those rainy days when he hummed along to the sky fall. She only noticed when he was bothered by a small inconvenience. 

**_MILO’S MOTHER_ ** _ almost sounds sympathetic,  _ “I want you to be able to tell me what you’re feeling.”

**MILO** tried. God damn, he tried  _ so  _ hard to tell her how he was feeling. But whenever he did, she shut him down and tried to explain herself. She pounded his thoughts, over and over and over, nailing in how she saw it, how other people saw it, never once considering how  _ he  _ sees it. 

**MILO** stops dead in his tracks when he sees the source of the light. It towered above him, engulfing the old wooden furniture and the pale cloth sheets that covered them. The light, the fire, was raging, burning, hot. He realized that while he was desperately climbing towards it, it was burning a path to him with ease. He turns on his heel and runs, following the path back to the start. But as the smell of smoke and burning wood and cloth and dust fills his lungs, he finally remembers the scent of gasoline he used to take a strange comfort in as a child. 

**_MILO’S MOTHER_** _’s voice is_ _crisp and clear. She sounds the most comforting and motherly yet._ “No matter how much you try to push me away, I’ll always be here for you. Even if you were to break my heart a million times, even if you were to try and slit my throat, I would still be here for you, because I love you.”

**MILO** catches fire quickly. He does not care. He does not scream or cry, he simply burns. He knows its all out of love, isn’t it? He knows that she wants what is best for him. And she has always known more than he has. It’s rude, not to trust your mother.  **MILO** does not want to be rude. He thinks to himself that it is better to be The Puppet Master’s son, compared to The Puppet Master’s enemy.


End file.
